Page 27 of The Duke of Ruin
Lord Payne grimaced, as though he was in pain, and cast Ruan a dejected look.
"Trying to out-run my father's ire."
Ruan snorted into his brandy. He knew the Duke of Hawkfield well from Parliamentary sessions, and he was a fierce, proud man. That his son had garnered a reputation as theton'smost committed reprobate, would not sit well the old Duke.
"I don't blame you," Ruan sipped on his drink, "The old man even scares me."
Hearing that the fearsome Duke of Ruin found his father intimidating seemed to mollify Payne somewhat.
"He'll be even more eager to find me a bride, now," Payne said dejectedly, then a thought seemed to strike him. "I say, Everleigh, did you find your missing wife? Is that why you're back in Cornwall?"
No one would ever accuse Lord Payne of an excess of social tact, Ruan thought with a grimace.
"Nearly," he said, "I have reason to believe that afterThe Elizabethsank, that she somehow ended up in St. Jarvis."
"Good God," Deveraux had paled, and was looking at Ruan nervously. "Did she lose her mind, do you think, from the shock of it all?"
Ruan could read the expression of pity on his old friend's face. Not another mad wife, he could see Deveraux thinking. He shrugged, in answer to the question, and took another sip of his drink.
"I wonder where she's staying," th Viscount mused aloud, after a moment's thoughtful silence. "A widow named Mrs Black recently reopened the old boarding house, and it's full of eccentrics like the old days. Perhaps she's there?"
"Mrs Black?" Ruan raised his eyebrows speculatively.
"Yes, Olive Black. A sailor's widow. She has quite the sharp tongue, but one lets that slide on account of how pretty she is. I was always partial to a red head though..."
"Gentlemen," Ruan set his glass down on the small table beside his chair. "I think you might find that I am the Widow Black's husband, and rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."
That evening the boarding house was filled with the sound of music and laughter, as the twins gave an impromptu musicale in the drawing room. Poppy played the piano forte, whilst Alexandra accompanied her on the harp. Both girls sang, with sweet clear voices, that quite often faltered, as they both descended into fits of giggles. The music had begun sedately, but once their Aunt Augusta had retired for the night, the twins had unveiled their secret talent for bawdy tunes, more suited to a tavern than a group of ladies --though no one complained.
Olive kept half an ear on the twins' songs, as she prepared a tray of tea in the kitchen. She was torn between asking them to stop, before things got too rowdy and Augusta was disturbed, and genuinely enjoying the innuendo laden ditties. As she filled the China pot with boiling water, she heard a movement outside the back door, which had been kept ajar to allow some cool air to penetrate the stifling warmth of the room.
Fearing it was a fox, she hurried over to close it, but her attention was caught by the sound of voices, which sounded to her like a couple arguing. Liv strained to hear what was being said, then bit back a gasp as she realised that the fighting couple were none other than Jane and Mr Jackson.
"My dear Jane," Mr Jackson was speaking in a very calm, dispassionate voice. "I pray you will compose yourself, I have not asked you to commit murder. Merely to wait for me until I return from the South Americas."
"But that could be years."
Liv could hear the shake in her friend's voice, and she instinctively knew that Jane was holding back tears.
"Five years. Seven at the most," Liv could picture Mr Jackson waving away Jane's concerns with an impatient hand. Seven years was a long time to ask a woman to wait, Liv thought, especially when one was considered already on the shelf, as Jane was.
"I thought that this year," Jane sniffed loudly, her voice trembling, perilously verging on hysterics. "I thought this year that you would ask me to be your wife Alastair. I've spent so long waiting, and every time you let me down."
"You're acting in a most peculiar way, Jane," Mr Jackson sounded thoroughly annoyed, his every word ringing with impatience. "Honestly -- I'm nearly reconsidering asking you to wait at all."
It took all of Liv's willpower, not to march out the back door and smack Mr Jackson resoundingly across his smug, pompous face. Luckily, Jane seemed to have had the same idea, for a ringing slap echoed across the night.
"I think you can deduce from that, Mr Jackson," Jane's voice sounded shocked, as though she could not believe what she had just done. "That I shan't be waiting for you. Though thank you for yourmostmagnanimous offer."
Olive heard the sound of footsteps hurrying toward the side gate, and she quickly stepped away from the door. Jane, must have gone home, but Mr Jackson was still in the garden, and quite possibly could come in at any moment. Liv quickly returned to her tea tray, and when the entomologist slipped through the door, with a brief hello, she gave him a curt nod. He had been planning to leave at the end of the week, but Liv wondered if he would push his date of departure forward, after all the unpleasantness with Jane. She hoped so, for she would far prefer to have her friend about, than the dull Mr Jackson.
"I have tea," she called gaily, as she entered the drawing room. "Coffee for Mrs Actrol and hot milk for Beatrice."
Liv served the two older women first, while the twins poured for themselves and the Misses Devoy and Dunham. The four younger women were in high spirits, and much of the tea ended up on the carpet.
"I haven't had this much fun in years," Mrs Actrol said, wiping away tears as Liv handed her a steaming hot cup of black, bitter coffee. "Did you know, that a whole new set of bawdy songs have been created since I was a girl? Oh the things that people can make rhyme with Duke."
Liv smiled, through somewhat gritted teeth. She knew the limerick that Mrs Actrol was referring to --it was about her estranged husband. She had found it amusing when she had first heard it in London, but now that she knew something of Ruan and his late wife, she could not bear to hear it again.
